Deck twelve and this is the first thing I see that looks familiar: the hind end of hound (that would be the one not wearing a blue coat…). I am delivered to the kennel. The hound and I exchange a whiff. His name is Churchill.

Of course it is.

The butlers name is Denny. He lifts me into a well appointed cage. Standard bars, cushy bed…cushier with my fur throw; water dish, food dish…ahhhh, my squeaky toy has been delivered. I settle in for a nap. What else to do?

Virginia, a whippet, huddles in the corner of the cage next to me, shivering. Virgina is from Miami, she says mildly. It’s hot there. It’s cold here. She doesn’t want any part of crossing the North Atlantic. Icebergs, she mutters.

I raise my head and look for a window to confirm her suspicions. No window, no port. Only a simple, slick floor, Denny at the door, one long draw of the whistle and the ship gives a gentle sway.